


Oops

by ravyn_nevermore



Series: OTP: The Black Pearl [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bottom!Jim, Established Relationship, Implied Dildo Use, Intense, Intense Orgasms, M/M, Smut, domestic!Jim, needy!Jim, top!Sherlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 15:26:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9390956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravyn_nevermore/pseuds/ravyn_nevermore
Summary: Sherlock stays over for the weekend and Jim has forgotten to clean up after himself.It wasn’t the first time Sherlock had stayed over by any means. The couple had been dating for well over two months. It was, however, the first time Sherlock was able to stay for an entire weekend. Sherlock had come over so late the previous night that they weren’t even able to do much more than cuddle and exchange lazy kisses until they fell asleep. It had, after all, been a long day for both of them. Sherlock spend the better part of nine or ten hours literally running all over London to solve another string of puzzles Jim had created specifically for the detective’s enjoyment. Though they found time to get off together with one phone call afterward, Jim had more work to do- it seemed that the few weeks following Saint Valentine’s Day always increased his clientele for a time-  and Sherlock had other responsibilities. The curse of being a godparent, lovely as Rosamund may be. Their night ended in each other’s arms with promises to make up for it the following day.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Ahoy!
> 
> I don't often go in for bottom Jim, but when I do, he's a needy little slut. I explored that a little. Hope you enjoy! Remember: comments are a fic writers' pay check!
> 
> Fic, ho!

As sunlight pressed against his eyelids, Sherlock is disappointed to find that the bed was colder than last night, meaning James has vacated the mattress. The detective is quick to forgive this, however, when his olfactory is greeted with the aroma of coffee and something… sweeter. Crepes suzette? It is one of Jim’s favourite breakfasts… 

Stretching until his spine pops, Sherlock yawns and shoves the plush, down-filled duvet aside. Bare feet touch the cold, hardwood floor causing the man to shiver. He bends down and picks up yesterday’s button-down shirt, pulling it on and rolling up the sleeves. Wearing nothing else but boxers, he shuffles out to the kitchen, kissing the Irishman’s messy hair and accepting a cup of coffee. 

Half of the black liquid drank, Sherlock excuses himself for a quick shower before breakfast. A light switch flipped, bare feet pad across the cold tile, the shower door is opened and that’s when Jim- still in the kitchen- remembers, but he’s too late. A snort of laughter is heard from the bathroom. Jim swears internally as a deep blush spreads over his bare chest, neck, and ears.

Sherlock pops his head out of the bathroom, looking clearly amused. “Seriously, Jim? There are a few things wrong with this… First of all, I thought you were a top? Secondly, how could you  _ possibly _ forget to take the  _ suction-cup dildo _ off of your shower wall? And don’t try to tell me that you leave it up there at all times. It would mildew and you are far too much of a neat freak for something so unsanitary.”

Jim huffs, obviously frustrated by his own embarrassment. “First of all, I never said that I am solely a top. I said I _ prefer _ it. But on occasion--” He shakes his head, cutting himself off. “Secondly, you know I was busy yesterday. After my shower, I went to the rooftop terrace for a cigarette and by that point I was already thinking about work again. You know, a normal person would have just ignored it. A normal boyfriend would have done the nice thing and put it away.”

“You wouldn’t love me if I was normal,” Sherlock points out, exiting the bathroom slowly, wearing a wicked smirk that rivals the one Jim wears quite often.

“No, that’s true…”

“Mmhm. I know.” Sherlock approaches his lover slowly, as a wolf stalks a deer. If it were quieter in the kitchen, Jim is sure that Sherlock would be able to hear the way his heart is currently palpitating against his ribcage like that of the prey he currently feels he is. Sepia eyes are wide, a pink tongue flicks across red lips- still swollen from the previous night’s kisses. Before Jim registers that he’s not breathing, Sherlock has him backed against the wall. “You thought of me, didn’t you? I must say, I’m glad to find out this information. Easier than trying to convince you to let me…” 

Sherlock reaches over with his left hand, turning off the stove. His right hand dances over Moriarty’s left hip, making the smaller man shudder audibly. Sea glass eyes remain locked on brown as the hand smoothes up Jim’s naked torso. Sherlock pauses at the fluttering sensation coming from the left-center of Jim’s chest. He presses his hand there. “Hmm. Your heart rate has already nearly doubled. How  _ very _ telling…” 

Before Jim can make some snappy comeback or snarky comment, full, plush lips close over his own and his groans softly in spite of himself. Sherlock’s body presses against Jim’s, his left hand wrapping around Jim’s waist and his right hand cradling the back of Jim’s neck. London’s Most Wanted Criminal™ is surprisingly quick to become putty in his boyfriend’s arms.  _ Interesting _ , Sherlock thinks, filing this information away.  _ He must be rather needy when he’s in the mood to bottom. _

With minor difficulty, the two manage to make it into the bedroom safely. In a slightly surprising- and, frankly, arousing- display of strength, Sherlock scoops Jim up and lays him out in the center of the bed, breaking their kiss and kneeling between the man’s already spread legs. He grins devilishly down at him and rolls his hips, earning a rather whorish moan from the flushed man beneath him. Jim can’t help it and reaches down to palm himself through his boxers, whining for Sherlock to give him what he needs. 

Oh, Sherlock is enjoying this. He’s tented his own pants at this point. He swats Jim’s hand away and peels off his own shirt. “You really want to do it missionary? I thought you’d want--”

“Shut up. Stop talking. I want to look at you when you finally take me for the first time,” Jim manages to get out beyond needy whimpers and labored breaths. He’s writhing on the bedsheets, and it makes him unrecognizable. Who is this man, so driven by power and control, that’s now begging to give up control and be overpowered?

There’s a couple of snaps of popped seams as boxers are stripped off both consultants and tossed to the floor. Jim looks between his legs as Sherlock stretches over for the bottle of lubricant in the nightstand drawer. It’s far from being his first time seeing Sherlock’s member, but now he knows that length and girth are going to be buried deep within him and he’s _ excited _ . He feels his own heart start pounding harder, faster than before. If he dies like this… so be it. It’s one hell of a way to go.

Despite Jim’s incessant whimpering and begging, Sherlock is careful, making sure his own cock is as well-lubricated as James’ entrance. Thanks to the toy in the shower from the previous night, Sherlock knows that Jim does not need much more preparation. He’s still stretched wide and ready to go. Worry does flicker through Sherlock’s mind since the toy was larger in girth, but shorter. The worry doesn’t last long, however, because Jim distracts him by wrapping his legs around the detective’s waist. “Stop thinking and  _ fuck _ me, Sherlock.”

Sherlock is all too pleased to oblige such a request. He’s fantasized about this so many times- full of curiosity- and now it’s happening. He guides himself to Jim’s entrance, pressing the tip inside as his free hand braces against the mattress. The look Jim is giving him makes his cock twitch and he pushes in slowly, moaning at the sensation of the tight heat. The way James bows off the bed to meet him is rivaled only by pornographic films. It’s truly a wonder to behold. 

Buried to the hilt, Sherlock remains still as they both adjust and attempt to get their breathing under control. He’s barely caught his breath, though, when heels are digging into the backs of his thighs- directly under his ass- and pulling him deeper. His lips close over Jim’s as he pulls back and drives in again, starting the pace he knows Jim needs based on body language alone. 

Together, they move in a frenzy: hard, deep, fast. Harder. Deeper. Faster. They tiptoe the line between pleasure and pain, their minds crystal clear and not bogged down by a single thought. Seconds pass, turning into minutes. Twenty- at least- have passed, before Sherlock reaches between, wrapping his fingers around Jim’s length. The Irishman moans at this and moves more eagerly. They’re both dangling on the edge of the precipice. Only when Sherlock changes his angle and hits Jim’s prostate do stars burst behind their eyes.

Sherlock shudders and groans, “James.” It’s a question, a warning, a grounding mantra.

“Sherlock,” Jim replies. It’s permission granted. It’s a prayer. It’s an agreement.

With another searing kiss, they explode together, clinging to each other as they fall into the abyss. Jim’s orgasm rolls through him in waves, dragging him into the undertow. He can barely breathe. It feels like dying at the same time it feels like being reborn. His heart surely must be about to burst from his chest into the hands of the man who owns it. Sherlock’s orgasm rips up and down his spine like lightning striking a tree. It’s always this intense with them, but this is different. It’s a new sort of high. It’s the control and power as much as it is the love and pleasure. He stops breathing entirely for mere moments that feel like forever. Certainly, he must be dead and this is the afterlife he never believed existed.

As soon as they both stop convulsing and twitching with pleasure, Sherlock pulls out and collapses beside James, cuddling him close with his head on Jim’s chest. He closes his eyes and listens to the sound of Jim’s heartbeat slowly returning to its normal rhythm. He breathes deeply, trying to calm his own frantic organ. The stench of sex and sweat stings the air, but Sherlock has always rather enjoyed that pungent, primal smell. He kisses Jim’s neck, making the Irishman smile weakly.

When the haze clears, Sherlock sits up and looks at his lover, but doesn’t speak. He doesn’t even know if there are words for this moment. Moriarty smiles lazily at him. “Crepes are cold by now.”

A deep chuckle rumbles up from the depth of Sherlock’s chest. “Romantic of you. You have a microwave. I should shower so I can enjoy the breakfast you slaved over.”

“Mm. No. Hold off on the shower.”

“Oh?”

“Mhm. I may just join you after we’ve eaten. Give that old toy a run for its money. I may just throw it out afterward.”

“That good, hm?” Sherlock smiles and pecks his lips.

“Better. I want to be able to feel you for days afterward. Are you up for it?”

Sherlock’s cock twitches weakly. “I’m always up for a challenge.”


End file.
